Draco's Diary
by Vividian
Summary: Draco's Christmas sucks, in many many ways, so he writes a short journal entry on it, explaining why it sucked. Very humorous. Rated for lyrical content, Slash, and implied gay sex. PLEASE R&R!!


December 26 

Have you ever had days where it just isn't worth it to chew your way out of the leather straps in the morning? Literally? Boy, I sure have. Like yesterday, for example. Now, granted, I'm not the most pro-Christmas person know, but yesterday really sucked, leaving alone the fact that I did have to ask Crabbe to find a strong pair of scissors to cut through the leather straps. No, you don't want to know how the night before was. Maybe I should go in chronological order, so as not to confuse you as to why I feel this way. It would make about as much sense as I can, which, I'll grant, isn't much, most of the time. 

So, I finally managed to drag my ass out of bed yesterday, after much sawing and Crabbe and Goyle complaining, and get into some clothes, which seemed to make both of them feel better. I admit, I was happier with something around my nuts. There is a cold breeze in the Slytherin dorms that could permanently damage precious treasures like that, were they left unguarded for some time. I had had a long night the night before – as I may have said, but will restate anyways, I am not usually into giving Christmas gifts, but Blaise had done me a favor, and I figured I owed him one…He knows how to pick his presents – and was feeling rather tired as I walked up to the Great Hall for Christmas Breakfast with the whole congregation of 10 other students and teachers still stranded at Hogwarts for the winter break. I was stuck because Mummy and Daddy had gone off to Paris for the month, and decided I couldn't miss the school, this being my final year and all. Crabbe and Goyle had stayed behind to open Christmas gifts from their families – I was told my gifts would be coming by owl at breakfast, so I felt no need to stick around – so I was the only Slytherin at the table when I arrived. Truth be told, I was pretty much the only person at the table when I arrived. The teachers were sleeping in, as they were prone to do when there was no set time for breakfast, and, except for the two second-year Ravenclaws – one, a mousy little girl with short brown hair and an I'm-too-intelligent-for-my-shirt attitude, and the other, her "boyfriend," a snobby little brat with mudblood parents – everyone else was in their dorms opening gifts from all sorts of friends and family. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I cared that had friends who gave them gifts more interesting than the box with colored tissue paper in it ((Goyle apparently forgot the fact that you were supposed to put a gift inside)) and a tube of superglue (("It's fun to play with! You can glue your fingers together!" was Crabbe's reasoning)). I don't. After all, what do you give a guy that has everything? And I'm sure they weren't trying to be stupid. Unfortunately, it's in their genetic coding. But now I've gone off on a tangent. I hate that. Where was I again? Oh yeah.

So I sat at breakfast, eating green and red oatmeal that had raisins in it that tap danced to various Christmas tunes that started playing out of nowhere when you put them on the table and didn't stop until you either ate them or squished them with your spoon ((I hate raisins, by the way)), enjoying the relative silence. After all, who in his right mind would be eating a breakfast of oatmeal and dancing raisins at 8:23 AM on Christmas morning? Not many people, I can tell you. I sat in peace for a time, watching my raisins perform wonderfully to the tune of "Jingle Bell Rock" ((I hate muggle carols)), completely oblivious to the fact that the one person I hated and loved most in the world was coming down the stairs, and that I was about to experience something so embarrassing, I wish to commit suicide at the thought of it. I suppose it's no use hiding the fact in my own diary, for I'm sure I've hinted at it a dozen times or more. I should just come out and say it, but I guess that I'm afraid that in saying it, even in a book such as this, it would become real. I think I'm afraid of that. Fine. I suppose it's no use hiding it after what happened yesterday. Time to say it, in writing if not in spoken word. I like Harry Potter. No, even writing that, I can see it's a lie. I have a crush on Harry Potter…No, that may have been what I thought last year, but now I must speak the real truth…I…I think I'm in love with Harry. That's a frightening thought, but even as I write it, I can hear the truth ringing through it. It echoes in my very soul. Disturbing. What does this have to do with yesterday, you ask? Why don't I explain?

So, I sit at breakfast, as I have been doing for a while, and who should happen to sit down right in front of me, but the three stooges themselves. I wonder if they just didn't see me, or if, in the Christmas spirit, they decided to try and be civil long enough for breakfast. Were I the betting type, I'd place money on the former, mostly because, as I looked up, the Weasel gave me a dirty look and the mudblood looked disapproving. I'm not sure if it was my imagination due to my infatuation with him, or if Harry really looked at me sympathetically as he saw me, sitting all my myself, with no company other than a couple of still-dancing raisins. Seeing as I was already in a bad mood, I was quite surprised with myself for not spitting out some nasty remark. Rather, I ignored them for the most part, which startled them, I'm sure, and finished the last of my oatmeal. I was about to leave, whether to spare them my foul mood, or to be rid of the air they contaminated by being in my breathing space, I'm not sure, when the owl post arrived. I looked up, almost hopefully, wondering if Karol, father's eagle owl, would be there, bringing me, at least, a note from my parents. No such luck. With a dejected sigh, I settled back into my seat, only to notice, to my horror, one Harry Potter holding a very familiar envelope, with a very familiar scrawl on the front. My stomach lurched and an expression of pure panic crossed my face, which, fortunately, none of the three saw, since they were all reading the lines I had written on that piece of paper myself. The Weasel's expression as he read changed from curiosity to disgust, while the mudblood's turned to puzzlement, and Harry's face flushed a deep crimson, an attractive look on him, then utter amazement.

"Who wrote that?" the Weasel asked.

"I have no idea…" Harry said.

"Who would possibly send you something…like that?" Granger wondered aloud. My stomach knotted and I stood hastily to make my retreat, all the while, the words from the poem I had written, but not intended to send, flowing through my head. I felt physically ill, and barely made it to the safety of my bed without blacking out. Try as I might, I couldn't block the muggle lyrics, and they began to almost haunt me. Even now, I can remember ever syllable of the stupid song…I might as well write them down again. Maybe they'll go away after this…

We got the afternoon   
You got this room for two   
One thing I've left to do   
Discover me   
Discovering you   
  
One mile to every inch of   
Your skin like porcelain   
One pair of candy lips and   
Your bubblegum tongue   
  
Cause if you want love   
We'll make it   
Swimming a deep sea   
Of blankets   
Take all your big plans   
And break 'em   
This is bound to be a while   
  
Your body Is a wonderland   
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)   
Your body Is a wonderland   
  
Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face   
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase   
You tell me where to go and   
Though I might leave to find it   
I'll never let your head hit the bed   
Without my hand behind it   
  
you want love?   
We'll make it   
Swimming a deep sea   
Of blankets   
Take all your big plans   
And break 'em   
This is bound to be a while   
  
Your body Is a wonderland   
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)   
Your body Is a wonderland   
  
Damn baby   
You frustrate me   
I know you're mine all mine all mine   
But you look so good it hurts sometimes   
  
Your body Is a wonderland   
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)   
Your body Is a wonderland   
Your body is a wonderland 

Gods…the damned song was stuck in my head at the time. I never intended to send the note. At least it was anonymous, but it sure as hell won't be, if they ever put two and two together and get four, the first being the note and the handwriting ((Malfoys have unmistakable handwriting)), and the second, my reaction. Oh dear…I can't believe that. After I managed to get myself under control, I asked around, wondering who had taken the envelope I had scribbled his name on and given it to his owl to take to him. It wasn't long before Crabbe confessed for the two of them. They said they thought it was a prank note of some kind. I'm not sure whether I'm angry or relieved. I suppose both. Angry, because they did something like that without my permission, an error that shall never be repeated, and relieved that they thought it was a joke. Maybe Harry and his lackeys will see it the same way. I doubt, but we can hope. Well, finding the culprit took up most of my time before lunch, and sadly, it was only the beginning. Lunch passed rather smoothly, since I managed to maneuver myself as far away as possible from Harry. He and his friends were still puzzling over my letter, both a good sign ((they hadn't figured out who sent it yet)) and a bad one ((they intended to find out)). I sighed as I muddled through my meatloaf. Obviously, this was not one of the better days for the house elves. I hate meatloaf too. Lunch was fairly painless, discounting the meatloaf ((. yuck)). The next series of pain came immediately after lunch. I was walking down the corridors, coming near the potions lab, when I saw some strange shadow darting into the room. Curious as to who would dare have the mental instability to try and sneak into Snape's room, especially on Christmas ((he HATES Christmas. Makes my disgust for the Weasleys look like child's play)), I looked in after him ((or her. I don't usually bother with the "him or her" crap.)). Imagine my shock to find…no one was there! It was very odd. My nosiness now in full swing, I snuck into the room, looking around for the culprit. I had managed to get to the back of the room, and was looking around Snape's desk, when Filch came in, closely followed by Snape himself. Caught "red-handed," I was screwed. Even Snape would not overlook a student snooping around in his office, not even his favorite student. I tried to talk my way out of it, but to no avail. I was given detention for the next six weeks with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, effective immediately. Yes, I got detention and had to serve it on Christmas. Charming. Abso-bloody-lutely charming.

Sulking back to my room, I was met by an ecstatic Crabbe and Goyle, who were chuckling about some evil deed they had just managed to pull off. Needless to say, I wasn't really in the mood, but they insisted I listen to them. It was ugly. Apparently, they had thought that my idea to send "prank letters" to Harry was beyond amusing, so they decided to do some work of their own. They found the lyrics to the song _Itz Your Fantasy_ by DJ Quik and had sent them off to Harry. Thank god they only found part of them. Unfortunately, this is what they found:

_Baby baby baby baby baby   
Who taught you how to do this shit?   
Yeah you bad than a motherfucker   
  
Tell me why are you so curious   
And why you keep on starin'   
At the motherfuckin' zipper on these jeans   
That I'm wearin' cause baby what's in there   
Is beyond your wildest dreams   
And although it seems that I'm on the nigga hoe team   
Girl listen listen Mary don't you weep   
I don't come cheap and I'm not just no nigga off the street   
I'm a certified specialized pro   
Who's got a lot of soul when you're swingin'   
Off the end of my pole   
But the matter at hand is the size   
And how it makes ya act   
When you get it up and in between your thighs   
You could squirm and squeal and try to make a deal   
That'll keep me on your jock   
For whenever you get that feelin' for the real   
And when it gets swollen   
You think you'll be controllin' me   
Because I put the pole in your hole, see   
But however it's done, it's 69 and I owe you 1   
I'm doin' it for the thrill of it   
So tell me can you feel it?   
  
Itz your fantasy baby, tell me if you feel it   
You know you wanna feel it   
Itz your fantasy, sing it if you feel it_

Oh, and it got better. They wondered at the fact that I hadn't signed my name. So they signed it for me this time. The best part was that they had already sent it. They were laughing about the look on Harry's face when he had read it. He hadn't shown it to the others, although they had apparently both asked him several times if he was feeling alright, for he was very flushed. I almost decided to end life right then and there. In fact, I was playing with a knife right here on my bed, where I'm sitting now, contemplating suicide. I decided, however, that a Christmas suicide was a little too…cliché, I guess, so I decided to wait for New Years. Besides, if I had killed myself then, I would have missed the climax of the night. You have no idea how thrilled I was when I came up to dinner that night and discovered why Magical Mistletoe was called "Magical." As I entered the Great Hall yesterday, I was trying to shove past Granger when we both passed under it. To make a long, painful, and disgusting story short and less painful and disgusting, the mistletoe locked us in place and we were snogging, in public, I might add, for two hole minutes, while everyone else looked on in disgust, except for the Weasel, who was livid. He almost beat me to a pulp when the damned thing finally released us, but fortunately remembered that I was still standing under the mistletoe, and managed to think about what would happen if we were caught under it together before he came charging at me, as if the whole thing had been my idea. I escaped to my room without further harm coming to my person. Don't get me wrong, I didn't puke up all the meatloaf I had eaten earlier into the lovely toilet in our bathroom after that because she was a mudblood, or, in truth, even because Harry had been watching, horrified, the entire time. I think what caused my violent reaction to those two minutes in hell was the fact that she was a girl…and the fact that I caught Trelawny giving me jealous looks the entire time. Just let me make sure you all understand this: I am gay. Not bi, not straight, nothing near it. 100% gay, thank you very much. Oh, and the fact that Trelawny could find that display anything other than revolting makes me very sick to my stomach, even now. I think it was all just one big happy hell day.

After finally clearing my stomach of anything even remotely resembling food, I collapsed on the floor of the bathroom, and did something I haven't done since I was five. I cried. I'm not sure how long I was sprawled out on the floor, sobbing until it hurt, and then continuing just because I couldn't stop, but it was certainly long enough for me to become stiff and cold. And I was, right up until I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and heard the rustle of a cloak being dropped. I didn't know who it was, and, truth be told, didn't care. All I wanted to do was die. Then the person spoke.

"Are you alright?" it asked. I froze. I knew that voice, not as I heard it now, full of kindness and compassion, but I knew it. I clamored to a sitting position to face the man before me, the man who had caused me so much pain, yet the same one who I looked forward to seeing every day, even if he was beyond my grasp. Questions raced through my mind, mostly along the lines of how he got in and what he could possibly want from me, but the first that jumped out of my mouth was, I assume, relatively obvious.

"Why are you here?"

I noted the use of the word "why" and not "how" about the same time he did. I think the question surprised him, but it was definitely on my mind.

"Because I figured you needed a friend. Apparently, you haven't had a very good day."

"Why do you care?" I asked, rephrasing my question. Why would Harry Potter care if I had the worst day of my life today?

"Because everyone should have a good Christmas."

I snorted. "Christmas is overrated."

"Maybe, but I still think you didn't deserve today. No one deserves bad days."

"Why do you care? You still haven't answered my question."

He paused for a moment, thinking. "I don't know," he replied. "I honestly don't know. I just do."

"Too much a Gryffindor," I said. The words were accompanied by a half smile. For some reason, knowing that he cared, if not why, made me feel better.

"I guess so," he admitted. "I'd better get going," he said finally. "Ron and Hermione'll think I've died or something."

I nodded.

"Wouldn't want the precious Gryffindors to get worried, would we."

He smiled and nodded, apparently not realizing I was half sarcastic. He stood, holding the strange cloak he had dropped, then, as he was leaving, paused and placed his hand on my shoulder.

"If you ever need someone to talk to," began he.

"I'll come find you."

He nodded, threw his cloak over himself, and, much to my amazement, disappeared ((the cloak turned out to be an invisibility cloak)). I heard him leave, although I couldn't see him.

I suppose, upon reflecting, that I really am of two minds about yesterday. In some ways, it sucked total ass – public humiliation, especially in front of the Weasel and the mudblood, is never a favorite – but in other ways, it was all right. After all, now the one person I hate and love now hates me less…or something. I think I'm honored. I also think he may have restored my faith in Christmas, and, potentially, life. We'll have to see what tomorrow holds, I guess. Oh, and I think I've found a moral for the story: some days, even if it doesn't seem worth it, always chew through the leather straps. Who knows what the day will hold.

Merry Christmas and Happy all those other Holidays that I'm too lazy to name!

~Vividian

NOTE: The first song was by John Mayer, and all rights about that go to him. The second song was by DJ Quik, and all those lyrics are his. Oh, and Draco and Harry are property of JK Rowling and stuff like that. No money was made off of this, so please don't sue me. I just like to write!


End file.
